


The Greatest Show Unearthed

by lacrimalis



Series: Vessels of Void and Fire [4]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Other, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2019-08-05 06:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16362371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacrimalis/pseuds/lacrimalis
Summary: It's time for the Knight's grand entrance, and the house is packed.





	1. Come One, Come All

The Knight was intercepted by the Grimmsteeds that guarded the Grimm Troupe’s tents on their way to the center of town.

The creatures herded the Knight away from the main thoroughfare, nudging and nosing at their cloak. The Knight gave a token resistance and looked beseechingly up to the Grimmchild. The child warbled and chittered in unhelpful amusement, and the Knight sighed, stopped digging in their heels, and resigned themselves to being jostled toward the tent.

The sign announcing their upcoming performance had been propped up beside the entrance, clearing the way for foot traffic – and for the Grimmsteeds to shove the Knight through the loose tent flaps and into the tent’s entryway.

When the tent flaps fluttered to a close behind the Knight and the Grimmchild, the heavy canvas became an impenetrable barrier between them and the clammy outside air. It was dry and warm, and a shudder passed through the Knight. 

The inside of the tent had already been a grand sight, but even still they appreciated the transformation it had undergone: sconces gleamed with fresh polish, and new banners of rich red hues hung in even greater numbers than before. In the shadows, the Knight could see that Grimm had somehow found room to add even more rows of tiered seats. Bowls of red fire wreathed the ring, lending the interior a lurid, dreamlike quality.

Grimm appeared, and the Knight bowed as Grimm did. 

“A fitting stage for our grand performance, no?” Grimm rasped. His mouth did not move around the words, but it did shift into a jagged smile. “I thank you for your patience, my friend. I trust you haven’t been too bored waiting?” 

The Knight shook their head, and the Grimmchild crooned and flew up to Grimm’s shoulder. 

“Oh?” Grimm said as it chittered. “You’ve been getting along with the Troupe, I hear.” 

It hadn’t occurred to the Knight that Grimm could understand his child’s chittering. They nodded in answer, curious as to what else the Grimmchild would tell him. 

Grimm laughed at something the child said, and he lifted a hand to scratch under its chin. It purred and leaned into its father’s touch. “I confess to some embarrassment that I had to hear it from the child. Ordinarily, the Troupe is of one mind. I know all their thoughts, and all that happens in my domain.” 

The Knight did not think this merited embarrassment or apology. It would be stranger if Grimm _did_ know everything Brumm and Divine and the Grimmkin and Grimmsteeds did. 

Grimm stroked the child’s spine, and it folded itself happily into his arms as he spoke. “But as the Ritual progresses,” Grimm went on to explain, “we grow more powerful -- powerful enough to have our minds made our own once more. Even I...”

The Knight’s head tilted with interest. Grimm had shown remarkable candor and tenderness on their moonlit stroll a few nights ago, and it had taken the Knight by surprise -- but it had still seemed in character for the Troupe Master’s sense of gravitas and his propensity for flowered words. Even as he opened up to the Knight and shared his feelings of kinship, he never seemed at a loss.

The uncertainty to Grimm now, by contrast, looked entirely out of place on his impish face, and it put the Knight ill at ease.

Grimm blinked, and recovered his composure in the space between one breath and the next. “Your debut will be tonight,” Grimm said, as if he had no intention of acknowledging the thought he had left unfinished. Though the Knight attempted to broadcast their curiosity, that preternatural intuition for the Knight’s feelings that all the Grimm Troupe possessed seemed to have abandoned Grimm just then, for he pushed onward, “Perhaps you’d like to invite some friends?” 

Grimm snapped his fingers. In his delicate hand appeared a handful of glossy red slips of paper, fanned out as if in preparation to perform a card trick.

But rather than instructing the Knight to ‘pick a card’, Grimm held out all of them. 

The Knight was not so distractible that this offering could wipe Grimm’s troubled expression from their memory. But they resolved to try and learn more later, since at the moment Grimm semed determined to pretend it had never happened.

So the Knight accepted the glossy red tickets.

There were six of them, and they shimmered when the Knight held them up to admire them in the firelight.

“Brumm,” Grimm said, and the bug in question emerged from the shadows. “Why don’t you accompany our silent friend to elucidate the nature of the invitation?”

Brumm nodded, and Grimm sent them off with a theatrical wave and a bow. Brumm stepped outside and held the tent flap open. The Knight glanced back at Grimm. The Troupe Master had that troubled look on his face again, and the Knight felt their stomach squirm with concern.

But it would be no use to question Grimm now.

The Knight and the Grimmchild followed Brumm out into the cool evening air.

* * *

The first bug they encountered was Elderbug, keeping vigil as usual at the center of town. The Knight was glad for it. Elderbug had been a comforting presence and a gentle guide ever since they first arrived in Dirtmouth, and they could think of no better candidate to invite to their performance that evening. Grimmchild sensed their anticipation and twirled in the air beside them.

“Good evening, my friend,” Elderbug greeted the Knight with warmth. Then he turned to Brumm. ”And...?”

“Brumm,” said Brumm. “I am a musician in the Grimm Troupe.” He played a short little melody on his accordion in demonstration, then bowed to Elderbug respectfully.

“I see,” Elderbug said with a smile. Though he had voiced his misgivings along with the rest of the townsfolk when the Troupe first arrived, he was clearly charmed by Brumm’s demeanor. “Your music is lovely.” The Knight agreed: music captured the heart, delighted the senses -- the Knight had experienced that firsthand. And music was in dismally short supply in the somber, fallen kingdom. It made sense that any bug spared from the infection would appreciate such a rarity. “You may call me Elderbug. Everyone else does.”

“Well met,” Brumm said. The Grimmchild cooed in agreement. “And this is the Grimmchild. Perhaps you’ve seen it accompanying our mutual friend.”

“I had wondered,” Elderbug admitted wryly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Grimmchild.”

The Grimmchild cooed in delight.

The Knight held out one of the glossy red tickets, and Elderbug accepted it. “And what’s this...?”

“The Grimm Troupe is putting on a special show tonight,” Brumm said. “Our friend here will be dancing with our illustrious Troupe Master. It promises to be an enthralling performance.” Brumm gestured a bit clumsily with both arms toward the glossy red slip, still holding his accordion. “That ticket will get you into the show free of charge. Will you attend? Of course, you are free to decline--”

“Nonsense! It’s a touching gesture, and I wouldn’t dream of declining. Thank you,” Elderbug said, turning to the Knight. “I’m grateful for the invitation. I would be honored to attend.” Elderbug reached down and patted the top of the Knight’s head.

Something in the Knight stuttered. Elderbug had been kind and solicitous ever since they met, kinder than any creature the Knight had met thereafter. The bug frequently invited the Knight to sit beside him in comfortable silence, and so the kindness itself was not a surprise. But the Knight had known few gentle touches, and this one gave them pause. Their greatest claims to physical intimacy were dance lessons with Grimm, and occasionally sharing a seat with the odd traveler they had met in the ruins.

The Knight continued to stare up at Elderbug. A strange and unfamiliar warmth unfurled beneath their cloak, owing itself to no discernible source -- considering that Elderbug was touching their head, not their chest.

Then the Grimmchild butted under Elderbug’s hand to demand that it _also_ receive head pats, and Brumm and Elderbug laughed as the Grimmchild cooed and nipped Elderbug’s fingers.

The Knight allowed their moment of strange emotion, which had gone unnoticed by their companions, to pass.

As they parted ways and the Knight led them to their next destination, Brumm murmured, “I have not had occasion to speak to the townsfolk, but I am glad I did tonight. It seems you make friends wherever you go.”

The Knight did not ascribe much meaning to the word -- ‘friend’. It was just another form of address, like Leg Eater’s ‘nasty’ or Hornet’s ‘ghost’ -- and like those forms of address, it had always only ever been an indication of what the speaker thought of the Knight: something helpful to inform their decision-making, and whether or not they needed to prepare for battle.

Yet when they let their mind wrap around the word, thinking of Elderbug’s kindness and Grimm’s warmth and regard, and Brumm’s offer to help them pass out their glossy red tickets – it drew the Knight’s attention to the strange bulb of emotion in their chest, still unaccountably warm, like a flower blooming with an inner glow.

* * *

The Knight distributed the tickets in this fashion. Brumm continued to strike up conversation with the townsfolk, who seemed to like him well enough despite the misgivings they’d initially confided in the Knight, all those – weeks? Months ago? Time had passed in a blur, just as it did in the heated tangle of a dance with Grimm. It was as if the Grimm Troupe had a magnetic effect that drew or repelled those around it, warping even the passage of time.

Everyone else accepted their ticket which just as much gracious kindness as Elderbug, with the exception of Zote, who had looked almost pained to do so. He had conspicuously waited for Bretta’s response (she accepted) before he followed suit, so the Knight imagined Zote wanted to spend time with Bretta. As Sly’s preoccupiation laid with nail arts and commerce, his had been polite interest. Cornifer’s and Iselda’s had been enthusiastic.

And with that the tickets were gone.

Brumm and the Knight stood alone with the Grimmchild on the main thoroughfare. “I should return to the Troupe to assist with the final preparations,” he said. “It was enlightening to accompany you this evening. Perhaps we will enjoy a few more moments like this before the Troupe moves on, and we must part ways.”

The Knight nodded. This came as no surprise, as the Knight had suspected from the first that the Grimm Troupe’s presence was impermanent: from the way their encampment sprang up overnight, to Grimm’s comments about all the kingdoms he’d seen – and how they made no effort to transform their encampment into anything more permanent, and how they seemed unconcerned with venturing into town and meeting their new neighbors, and how, above all, they behaved as entertainers performing a service, not refugees of the storms beyond the Howling Cliffs to the west, or survivors of the infected tunnels below and to the east.

Still, they were struck with a pang from deep inside. It was like a distant, half-heard echo emanating from a labyrinth of tunnels. Its physical origin and its deeper meaning were utterly indiscernible.

“Do not fret,” Brumm assured the Knight. “The Grimmchild will remain with you when we are gone. Perhaps it will remind you of fond memories.”

Child rearing was the least of the responsibilities the Knight had been saddled with unexpectedly, and they took this in stride. They liked the Grimmchild, anyway.

“I bid you farewell then, my friend. I look forward to your performance.”

The Knight watched Brumm return to the Grimm Troupe’s encampment. They could probably go to the big top now to begin preparing alongside Grimm, but they had a mind to rest up at the bench at the center of town – maybe listen to Elderbug speculate about the nature of the performance.

The Knight turned on their heel and made for the center of town, the Grimmchild ambling on the air behind them.

* * *

“Um,” Bretta stuttered, shifting her weight as she stood before the Knight, who sat on the bench at the center of town.

The Knight glanced at the glossy red ticket in her claws, then back at her anxious expression. Did she want to ask about the performance? The Knight had never spoken a word in Bretta’s presence. Surely she knew the Knight would be unlikely to respond?

“I’m sorry,” she finally worked up the nerve to say, “but Zote said he had an important heroic mission to take care of, very urgent... He um, won’t be able to make it.” Bretta held out the ticket. “He asked me to give you this, but um, to thank you for the invitation!”

The Knight knew little of Zote. Not for lack of sharing (it was no secret that Zote was nearly incapable of speaking on any subject other than himself), but because the Knight couldn’t help but filter out Zote’s droning voice that so resembled the hum of a bee’s buzzing. From what the Knight _did_ know, Zote would not have actually asked Bretta to thank them, and so this detail was likely an embellishment on Bretta's part to spare the feelings the Knight didn't have.

Nodding, the Knight accepted the glossy red ticket and tucked it away.

"I'll still be there, of course!" Bretta stammered, a blush coloring her cheeks sweetly. "I, um, wouldn't miss it for the world!"

The Knight nodded more enthusiastically at this, and the Grimmchild trilled to supplant the Knight's own gladness. Bretta giggled and waved, and called, "See you then!" as she made her way back home, presumably to prepare before the show began.

It was probably about time for the Knight to make an appearance, come to think of it. They rose from the bench and began walking toward the edge of town.

"Hey there!" a voice called, and the Knight turned to see Cloth leaning against Sly's shop. The Knight was surprised to see her, and they trotted over to hear how she'd come to Dirtmouth. "It's good to see you again," she said. The Knight bowed, and the Grimmchild chirruped at Cloth. She laughed. "And I see you've still got your little spitfire! You sure showed that Mantis Lord what-for, didn't'cha, little one?" Cloth asked the Grimmchild.

The Grimmchild flipped and spun, and spat a triumphant fireball into the air.

Cloth crowed encouragement at the display. "That's what I'm talking about!" When the Grimmchild settled down, Cloth turned her attention back to the Knight. She told them about her plan to seek her fortune beyond the Howling Cliffs, and her aspirations to hone her skills. "I'm glad I got to see you before I left."

Struck with inspiration, the Knight pulled their glossy red ticket out from beneath the folds of their cloak. With a series of gestures (and with some help from the Grimmchild), the Knight communicated what the ticket was for.

Cloth accepted it. "I'll be there!" she promised.

It was at that moment that the Knight realized a crowd was beginning to trickle toward the big top, and that they should hasten to Grimm's side to finalize their preparations. The Knight bade Cloth a silent farewell and marched toward the tent, where they would experience their debut, and thereby complete the next step of the Ritual.

The Grimmsteeds bowed their long necks and moved aside at the Knight's approach, and the Knight stepped into the red stain cast by the tent's inner light.


	2. Hell To Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> y'all it's finally happening

The Knight followed the flow of the crowd into the tent, carefully navigating the stream of bugs in the dim red light. 

“You’re here,” came a voice, and the Knight turned to see Brumm, holding his accordion and standing where they knew the backstage corridor to be. The Grimmchild chirped in greeting as the Knight made their way over to him. “Mrmm... The child’s flame is ready. As are you, I expect.” 

The Knight nodded. 

“Then follow me.” 

Brumm lead the Knight through the corridor of dark fabric. Their path was lit by modest candles, rather than the ostentatious lantern cages that circled the stage, and the effect was a calmer and much more subdued atmosphere, when compared with the commotion and grandeur of the main stage. The Knight recalled their revelatory practice session with Grimm in these darkened corridors, and the memory warmed them.

They walked until the Knight suspected they had traveled half the circumference of the tent. When they stopped, it was at a span of fabric indistinguishable from the rest, but which must have hidden an opening to the stands and the stage. 

“Your lessons have progressed well,” Brumm ventured, and the Knight turned to the masked bug from their inspection of the curtained wall, searching for the seams. “I am sure your performance will be exemplary.” 

The Knight’s shoulders relaxed. Something about the thought of the crowd’s eyes had made the Knight feel the first faint stirrings of trepidation, and Brumm's confidence soothed their nerves. 

“... Mrmm,” Brumm murmured. “Perhaps it is not my place to say. I do not wish to impact your performance with the mere words of a humble servant. And yet... perhaps you will indulge me.” 

The Knight tilted their head as the Grimmchild settled on their shoulder. 

Brumm nodded, as if coming to an important decision. He played a quiet tune of syncopated chords, lilting and curious. And he spoke: 

“A spark of red lights darkest dream, 

Scarlet nightmares bright and wild 

Visions dance, and flames do speak, 

Burn the father – feed the child.” 

Then Brumm stopped playing, and the ensuing silence left the Knight feeling somehow bereft. The cadence of the poem struck the Knight as familiar – it took them the span of a moment to remember they had heard it from the Grimmkin. It had come in reedy whispers, in disjointed snatches of rhyme and laughter as the Grimmchild chased them with its burgeoning fire. The Knight had not yet had an opportunity to hear it all together.

Now that they had, the poem resolved into an uneasy meaning they couldn’t quite parse. 

“That is only one part of the Ritual’s song,” Brumm said. “Not all of it can be conveyed in words alone. Mrmm… But you shall see that for yourself soon enough.” And Brumm pulled aside the curtain.

“Good luck, my friend. I look forward to seeing how your efforts have paid off.” 

The Knight nodded, still mulling over the meaning of Brumm's words as they stepped into the darkness, the Grimmchild drifting after them.

* * *

The silence surrounding the stage held an incalculable weight. 

The Knight had wandered the ruins for as long as they could remember, and silence was the single unifying feature of its many ecosystems and winding paths. But those stretches of silence were always characterized by an absence of life. Down in the ruins, the presence of any creature would be quickly revealed by the out-of-place sounds of their scuttling feet or chittering voices, echoing off the walls of the cavernous tunnels. 

Here in the big top, the tent’s fabric and drapery swallowed sound, and the silence was of a different kind. The presence of the audience was perceptible in the warmth and the weight of the room, and in the air currents, but the  _silence_ – it was deliberate. It was respectful, and reverent. 

It was  _rapturous._

It took the Knight’s breath away as soon as they stepped through the curtain. They hung back in the shadows of the elevated stands, unwilling to disturb the sacred hush. When the Grimmchild chittered in curiosity at the strange atmosphere, the Knight beckoned it into their arms, folding it beneath their cloak and stroking its tapered thorax to soothe it into silence.

The Knight jumped when a loud bang came from the stage. A deep crimson circle shone upon its center in a beam of light, absent, expectant. The faint beginnings of Brumm's now-familiar melody began to unfurl into the air, claiming the gravity of the living silence for itself.

In a flash of fire and shadow, Grimm appeared beneath the beam with a flourish and bowed to the shadowed stands. “Beetles and mantises,” he rasped, his voice velvety soft and resonant regardless. The Knight could almost believe Grimm was speaking just over their shoulder, to deliver the words in a whisper to the Knight alone. “... Flies and worms. It is my deepest pleasure to welcome you to this evening’s performance. And to introduce a very, _very_ special guest...” 

Grimm’s shining red gaze turned toward the Knight, finding its target unerringly despite the depth and breadth of the shadows in which they stood. 

Grimm held out his hand. 

Struck by nerves, the Knight dashed to Grimm’s side in a rush of shadow, and the Grimmchild rolled out of their arms and into the air, chirruping with delight. Motes of void trailed behind the Knight as their cloak fluttered around their feet. Gracefully, Grimm captured their hand midair to guide them into a twirl, and then together they bowed to the murmuring stands. 

“Few have borne witness to such a performance,” Grimm said once they had straightened again. “Count yourselves among the privileged, for this kingdom will see no other like it.” 

Grimm lifted one arm to reveal the red inner lining of his cloak, and the Grimmchild dove into his arms. Grimm wrapped the cloak around his child, and the hem of the fabric fluttered in an air current the Knight could not feel. 

“Ah… This searing fire,” Grimm rasped, and though his voice was no quieter than before, the Knight intuited that these words  _were_ for the Knight alone. “It carries well the Ritual's promise.” 

The Knight could no longer see or hear the Grimmchild, but they recalled that this happened the first time as well. The Grimmchild had vanished into Grimm's cloak, and emerged after Grimm did _something_ to help it convert the flame into energy enough for some kind of growth spurt. 

The Knight had also witnessed the aftermath of the Grubfather eating its hundred children. By comparison, this was far from the strangest thing the Knight had seen a parent do for its child. 

And if Brumm and Grimm's cryptic allusions were to be believed, the Knight would be  _contributing_ to that process by participating in this dance.

Grimm straightened, and with a snap of his claws the tent was lit in a wash of red. The lanterns hanging high from the rafters above swung and creaked, sparkling and spitting embers merrily. 

“Dance with me, my friend,” Grimm purred, and the Knight's gaze snapped back to the Troupe leader from its awed absorption with the firelight. Grimm grinned. “The crowd awaits. Show them you are worthy of a starring role!” 

The Knight bowed, and so too did Grimm. 

Then the dance began. 

The Knight fell into the first flurry of steps they'd practiced so diligently, flywing-quick movements transforming them into a blur of void-deep shadow. The pattern flew by with the confidence borne of repetition, and before the Knight knew it they were standing again before Grimm, who was falling precisely into place from his own elaborate steps.

"Very good," Grimm crooned, mouth unmoving, as their hands joined for the first time in the dance.

The Knight shivered, nearly missing their next step. Grimm laughed softly, and the Knight feared they truly  _would_ miss a step when they felt the vibration of that delightful sound thrum through them – but Grimm improvised an opportunity to lift the Knight up, and by the time their feet touched the ground again they had mostly regained their composure. But they were still embarrassed. All that practice...

"The depth of your feeling is well-suited to the Ritual's purpose," Grimm assured the Knight. "Do not think of it as disrupting your movements, but  _driving_ them. That is key."

The Knight nodded discreetly, and Grimm favored them with a crooked grin. Then he twirled the Knight – another improvisation, which dizzied the Knight – and they leapt apart.

The Knight considered Grimm's words as they progressed through the river-quick flow of the dance. Each time the Knight caught Grimm's eye  across the stage, anticipation flared inside of them, and they dove with renewed fervor into the next sequence of steps. Soon, soon, the Knight would be leaping into Grimm's arms –

The lanterns swinging high above seemed to respond to the Knight's enthusiasm, spitting embers and flaring brightly, casting frenetic shadows in every direction. When next the Knight jumped into the air, a pillar of flame erupted in the space they'd occupied just moments ago.

The Knight stumbled on the landing, turning quickly around to watch as the fire banked and receded into the stage.

"Steady on, my friend," Grimm's voice whispered encouragement. The Knight lifted their disbelieving gaze to see Grimm at the opposite end of the stage. The Knight was struck by the sudden thought that they now faced Grimm in the arena of battle. The swelling music carried the murmurs and gasps of the audience into a higher register, until the Knight imagined they heard instead the roaring cheer of colosseum spectators, the rattling taunts of iron weapons striking the bars of the arena's iron cage–

"It is just as we practiced," Grimm said.

But the Knight wavered. They hadn't practiced with _fire!_

Grimm's smile was unerring. "The steps of the dance will keep you from harm."

Then Grimm opened his arms, the very picture of a ringmaster's majesty, and from within the red depths of his cloak a snarling face of fire issued forth. Its unbearable heat roared past as the Knight side-stepped the searing projectile on instinct. With a start, the Knight realized they had unwittingly followed the next step in the sequence.

The Knight fell back into the flowing melody of the dance, and soon realized it was as Grimm said: each movement the dance called for delivered the Knight safely from each flaming obstacle's path – and one step closer to Grimm.

Exhilaration propelled the Knight forward, and a warmth independent of the deadly flames spread to the Knight's hands and feet. The movements felt like the most natural thing in the world, and the Knight marveled that any part of this could be planned or choreographed.

In that moment, to the Knight, it did not feel as if the impetus to move came from their weeks of practice – but from something within the Knight, a burgeoning flame in the Knight's own chest to match the lurid red one shining out of Grimm's smiling eyes.

Exultant, triumphant, the Knight twirled and jumped – and over-shot the length of the jump by twice its distance, landing an arm's length away from Grimm.

Grimm's eyes widened, and just by recalling the second jump they were supposed to have had room to make, the Knight knew they were meant to side-step another flaming projectile – knew now that they were too close to avoid it –

The Knight jumped backward, but they were still too close –

And then wings of white soul energy unfolded from the Knight's back. The flaming projectile was an after-thought fat beneath them, lost as the Knight was in the openly stunned admiration in Grimm's eyes.

The Knight descended slowly, and Grimm caught them in his arms as the ethereal monarch wings vanished.

"Remarkably done," Grimm breathed, like he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

The Knight was absorbed in the red splendor of the moment. Grimm's arms and chest were warm, and the Knight was warm, too.

Grimm narrowed his eyes in focus, and the Knight braced himself for the dance to begin anew.

The Knight expected the drop. What they did not expect was the way Grimm vanished – not in a fiery flash, but in a burst of black. The Knight landed on their feet and stared as Grimm dissipated into several dozen shadows, which flew about and stirred up an unholy racket, like a conference of disagreeable crickets.

Returning to themselves belatedly, the Knight resolved to continue the dance. The pillars and faces of fire had also been unexpected elements – these strange shadows were just one more challenge for them to overcome. For the Ritual. For the Grimmchild.

For Grimm.

The Knight stepped around and between the shadows as they resumed the dance alone, but they were taken aback by the corporeality of the black shapes. The shapes bumped and jostled them, and the Knight was left wondering if they had missed a cue that would have permitted them to glide through the shadows as gracefully as they had the flames.

The music sounded faint and distant amid the rush of sound the chittering cloud of shadows emitted, and the Knight strained to hear the music beyond it.

In the swarm of shadow, the Knight glimpsed a pair of red eyes – Grimm coming to their aid again? – and abruptly recognized the silhouette of the Grimmchild.

The Knight dug deep to recall the memory of the music they were supposed to be hearing, even as their mind raced to solve the mystery before them.

Why did the Grimmchild  _look_ like that? Would its eyes turn red like Grimm's, after this next growth spurt? Was this shadowy form evidence of the Knight's influence on its development? The tenderness that thought might have otherwise inspired was tempered by the unease the Knight felt in the midst of that chittering swarm.

Why were there so  _many?_ It was clear to the Knight that these were not mere illusions – not with how they pushed and knocked them about. And once the Knight recognized the red-eyed shadow as resembling the Grimmchild, it was clear as crystal to see that the rest of the shadows were identical. The swarm of fluttering, chittering shapes was nothing but a multitude of  _Grimmchildren._

Just as the Knight began to feel overwhelmed, the Grimmchild's red-eyed silhouette took hold of the Knight's hands and lead it into the steps they had forgotten.

It reminded the Knight of the tender moment they had shared with Brumm and the Grimmchild while practicing behind the tent – but the ominous undercurrent of the pulsing music lent the memory a dark and foreboding air.

_Burn the father, feed the child._

Where was Grimm?

A spinning leap gave the Knight a sweeping glance of the entire stage.

The Knight was alone, save the swarm.

The Grimmchild slipped from the Knight's grasp, casting them one final look before it followed the sweeping shadows into a roiling black mass at the other end of the stage.

The mass resolved into a tall and lean figure, and in a burst of flame the livid red returned and made it _Grimm._ His thorax and chitinous limbs gleamed and shone as if he'd just shed his skin.

The audience cheered wildly at Grimm's transformation, but to the Knight it sounded distant and strange – like the cheers of the colosseum, clamoring for blood rather than spectacle.

The rest of the dance passed in a blur until the Knight was in Grimm's arms again.

When the music crescendoed and Grimm led the Knight into a dip, the Knight felt nothing at all.

* * *

Grimm attended to his duties as ringmaster, thanking the spectators for coming and accepting their compliments with grace and panache, while the Knight examined the Grimmchild.

The child's eyes were still black, which went a small measure toward comforting the Knight. Witnessing the symbiosis Grimm shared with the Grimmchild had led the Knight to conclude that the red in Grimm's eyes really did reflect the troupe master's essence, the roaring fire that gave him life. Were it to pass on to the child after that dance…

Then what? The Knight didn't know, and they were frustrated by how little they understood of the Ritual they had ignorantly agreed to participate in. It had just been… something to do. A way to pass the time while the Knight put off the inevitable.

But now the Knight doubted this course. Would completing the Ritual bring harm to the Grimmchild? To Grimm?

 _Burn the father, feed the child._..

“Little shadow,” Grimm said, breaking the Knight out of their reverie. “It seems that your admirers are aching to speak with you.”

The Knight's gaze followed the sweeping arc of Grimm's arm to see the bugs they had invited waiting by the exit. The Knight hastened to them, shaking loose their morbid train of thought – and was treated to a chorus of compliments and congratulations.

“Th-That was amazing!” said Bretta 

“Yes, quite a show!” Cornifer agreed.

Iselda looped an arm around her husband's elbow as she added, "You were  _magnificent,_  little one."

“Your grace! Your acrobatics! What a stirring sparring session!” 

“Sly, my friend, it was a dance, not a battle,” Elderbug chided gently. 

“I know what it looks like when worthy foes meet!” Sly said with a huff. 

The Knight ducked their head bashfully, and the Grimmchild chirred and cooed in delight. The bugs invited the Knight to walk with them out of the tent, but the Knight declined. They still had some things they wanted to discuss with Grimm. The Knight waved to their friends until the last one had vanished from sight.

Then they turned to Grimm.

“Ah, my friend! Excellent timing,” Grimm said as the Knight approached. “Since you’ve been getting along so well with the Troupe, I thought you might like to meet our newest member.” Grimm gestured airily at the darkness. “Come, introduce yourself.” 

A red-cloaked bug stepped forward from the shadows, but the Knight could barely make out their shape. They looked like a larger Grimmkin, stockier, more firmly grounded than the creatures that flitted about and teased the Grimmchild with their dancing firelight staves. 

“Now, now. It is your debut! You needn't be shy,” Grimm crooned. 

The bug stepped further into the light at Grimm’s behest. “I am Thoth,” said a familiar voice.

The Knight stared. 

 _... Cloth?_  

The Knight approached her slowly. Her frame was unmistakable, and there was her belt of rings, and the distinctive fang she brandished like a club – though now it had a golden band around its base, and her cowl was red, and a mask covered her face... 

But surely it was still Cloth? 

"My Master tells me you have contributed greatly to the Ritual’s success,” she went on, ignorant or uncaring of the Knight’s scrutiny – and now the Knight could recognize that, though the voice  _was_ Cloth’s, the intonation was completely wrong. When Cloth spoke, her friendly nature and her determination came through with every word. The Knight had  _never_ known her to speak so formally. 

Then she bowed, and the Knight almost recoiled at the strangeness of the gesture on Cloth’s broad shoulders. 

And then she said, “It is an honor to meet you.” 

The Knight froze. The Grimmchild grumbled unhappily, as if it could feel the line of tension in the Knight’s shoulders. Maybe it could. 

“Does she unnerve you?” Grimm asked. “I assure you, she wouldn't  _dream_  of harming you.” 

The Knight turned to Grimm and drew their nail. 

Grimm only looked confused at the implicit threat, but this did not extinguish the Knight’s ire.

Grimme had done this.

Grimm had done  _something_ to Cloth, and now she didn’t remember them anymore. 

“Is something wrong?” Grimm asked. The Knight pointed their nail at Cloth, who looked upon the mounting tension gormlessly, like a statue. Grimm’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment the Knight thought things would come to blows. But Grimm snapped his fingers (the Knight flinched) and called, “Grimmsteeds? Come here.” 

The Knight did not see the Grimmsteeds emerge from the tent’s shadows. They kept their eyes firmly on Grimm, in case the troupe master decided to pull a disappearing act. 

“Yesss, my Master?” the Grimmsteeds crooned, bowing their long necks in deference. 

Grimm reached into his cloak and pulled out a familiar glossy red ticket. “Did  _this one_ gain entry to the show with one of these?” 

“Yesss, Master,” they cooed. 

Grimm crushed the ticket in his fist, around which a ball of flame erupted. “Brumm!” he roared, his mouth splitting into a jagged maw of uneven teeth. The tent shook with his rage. The Grimmchild darted into the shadows of the Knight’s cloak. 

The Knight tightened their grip on their nail. 

Brumm stumbled from a curtained partition and made haste to center stage. “Yes, my Master?” he huffed. 

“What,” Grimm hissed, “did I charge you with this evening?” 

Brumm absorbed the scene before him, catching on with a quickness. “Oh,” he breathed, his body drooping with dread, “my Master, forgive me, I–” 

“You  _what?”_ Grimm spat. “You  _forgot?_ Surely the lantern’s flame has not blinded you so badly that you cannot remember  _six faces?”_  

“Master, please,” Brumm beseeched his bestial lord. “I swear, I did not leave their side until the last ticket was gone–” 

Realization fell upon the Knight like a stone.

The  _tickets._

Shock made them loosen their grip, and their nail clattered to the floor. The Grimmchild whimpered beneath the Knight’s cloak, tightening almost painfully around their thorax to make itself as small as possible.

Grimm and Brumm continued to argue as a sound like rushing water drowned out the Knight’s thoughts. The Knight felt disembodied all over again, and they imagined the chittering swarm of Grimmchildren crowding around inside their shell. 

“Ahhh, stupid boys,” came a breathy voice, and the Knight spun around to see –  _Divine?_

The Knight had never seen her leave her tent before, and was immediately on their guard in response to her unusually-timed appearance. Divine loomed over the Knight, but her narrow gaze was not fixed on them; instead she glared at Grimm and Brumm. 

With a sigh, Divine turned a smile toward the Knight in apparent sympathy. “They do not understand matters of the heart. No, not at all. Come, little shadow. Come. I will explain, yes?” 

The Knight’s legs were rooted to the spot. They did not think they were capable of going anywhere. 

Divine hummed thoughtfully. Then she leaned down, picking up the Knight with her forelegs and depositing them on her worm-like abdomen. The Knight clung to Divine’s thorax for balance, turning back to look at Cloth as Divine slithered from the tent.

Cloth hadn’t budged at all since she introduced herself to the Knight, her bone white mask staring vacantly out at the scene of unfolding violence before her.

The depths of her mask’s eye holes looked, to the Knight, unnervingly hollow. 


	3. Rest For The Wicked

Grimm was _livid._  

Brumm sputtered and made his excuses in the face of Grimm’s incandescent rage, but no amount of groveling could fix what had been done. What Brumm had _allowed_ Grimm to do.

The shadow's former friend had been irreversibly subsumed into the troupe's fold. If there had been any hope of reverting her condition, it would have been lost in the wake of the Ritual's dance. The passion Grimm and the Knight shared was unlike that of any of the other Rituals Grimm had participated in before. So powerful was the resultant energy that it strengthened _all_ of their connections to the Nightmare Lantern's flame – thus sealing Thoth’s fate.

Grimm laughed ruefully, dragging a hand down his face.

Brumm looked on anxiously as his master fell apart at the seams.

How ironic, Grimm thought – that this emotional connection he pursued had only _strengthened_ the shackles that bound him and the troupe to their purpose.

Grimm sagged to the floor and buried his face in his hands, enervated by the process of the Ritual and the emotional turmoil of frightening off his little shadow. What did it matter if he lost his composure? It was only Brumm here, after all – and the husk that was Thoth, standing there like a statue.

Grimm cast his gaze upon the latest initiate of his dread troupe in appraisal, wondering if he had missed some telltale sign of her bond with his shadow. He had chosen Thoth from all the attendees tonight because of her strength - not just of body, but her strength of character. Grimm had tasted her ardent desire to grow stronger and her determination to succeed, and he had known the troupe would benefit from the presence of one such as her. When he made his offer, she had accepted. _A worthy addition,_ he had thought with pride.

Now he couldn’t bear to look at her. "Leave us," Grimm hissed, and Thoth nodded obsequiously and disappeared into the stands.

Within the silence was a tangled knot of tension. Grimm could not bring himself to speak for shame. Brumm was silent, too – out of fear, maybe, but more likely it was scorn. Brumm had been behaving with surprising independence of late.

"Forgive my impertinence, Master… But I advised against this course for a reason."

Grimm dropped his hands away and stared at Brumm in disbelief. "If you had done as I _ordered–_ "

"With all due respect," Brumm interrupted brazenly, "I followed your orders to the letter. One of those entrusted with a ticket was not in attendance. It is possible he gave it away,” Brumm explained. Grimm could not dismiss the possibility, nor the oversight on his part in not considering such a thing. “But even had he not done so, accepting a new member from this land would have always run the risk of estranging our summoner."

Grimm's anger simmered, and the inside of the tent pulsed red with it.

At least he had cooled down enough that flames weren't flying through the air and singeing the tapestries any more.

Grimm could not refute Brumm's logic, and he was forced to acknowledge that his sentiment had clouded his judgment.

"Mrmm… Was she meant to be a memento?" Brumm eventually asked.

Grimm snapped his head up and narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"To remember this land, and the one who summoned us here," Brumm elaborated. "Was that the reason you were so insistent on accepting a new member?"

It sounded like something Grimm would have done, once – collecting troupe members like souvenirs as they flitted through fallen kingdoms, an ember without a care floating on the desolate wind.

"No," Grimm sighed. He lifted his hands and stared at his palms, glaring at the way they trembled with weakness – so it had already begun. "I know what the Ritual demands. Soon I will sleep, and my life will be forfeit to feed the child."

Brumm nodded slowly, giving Grimm the space he needed to explain himself. Grimm was surprised by the rush of gratitude he felt for his servant who was, by rights, merely an extension of his own will.

It seemed they had both experienced a profound change by coming to this kingdom.

"I did not wish for it to end," Grimm admitted, "nor did I want to say goodbye to our friend this evening, when I began my long rest. But with a new member, as yet unshaped by the Lantern's intent…"

"... You hoped to see through her eyes," Brumm finished, "and thus postpone your final farewell."

Grimm placed a delicate hand over his forehead, feeling the call of sleep and striving to delay it as long as possible.. "I just... wanted to spend more time with them," Grimm said softly.

Now that he had spoken it aloud, the depth of his mistake was thrown into stark relief. His little shadow would no sooner speak with _him_ than the husk of their friend whom Grimm had recruited for the task.

“... Mrmm,” Brumm murmured. “That was… selfish of you.”

The guttering fire in Grimm’s eyes flared to life to fix his servant with a glare. But Brumm did not quail beneath the threat, and more importantly, it occurred to Grimm that there was another meaning to be found in Brumm’s words beneath the obvious slander.

Grimm had acted _selfishly._

Was there another time he had behaved thus? In all his aeons of harvesting fallen kingdoms’ flames, could Grimm say that he had _ever_ acted in a way that benefited only himself, and not the Ritual’s end?

Nothing came to mind.

The possibilities such a thing suggested were awe-inducing in their multitude – but it was too late to act on it, now. “Perhaps if they return, I can apologize,” Grimm muttered. The room spun, and he swayed where he kneeled.

Brumm caught him – faithful, bull-headed Brumm – and lent his strength to the troupe master.

“They will not return tonight,” Brumm said quietly, with a confidence that meant he must have been speaking with Divine.

Grimm couldn’t even reach his servants’ minds, he realized. He laughed weakly in denigration of his own failings as troupe master. “Then I will not sleep until they return,” he decided.

“You cannot resist the Ritual that long,” Brumm said, and Grimm knew he was right. “I can feel it just as you can, Master. I am... truly sorry.”

“It is no mistake of yours,” Grimm murmured against Brumm’s shoulder. He felt his eyelids drooping, sending him into a bespelled sleep in preparation for the Ritual’s conclusion. He would need the rest. “Tell our friend not to bother collecting the kingdom’s flame.”

Brumm was quiet for so long that Grimm suspected he had fallen into the black depths of sleep without realizing it. Disappointment and despair welled up within him.

“... You are tired,” Brumm said, and hope flared in Grimm’s chest. “You know not what you speak, Master.”

“I know perfectly well,” Grimm slurred sleepily. “Let the Nightmare Lantern gutter out while it waits interminably for the Ritual’s end. Then perhaps I will awaken when it has died.”

“Or perhaps _you_ will die,” Brumm saw fit to remind him.

“I have died a thousand deaths.” Grimm yawned so widely his jaw unhinged, and his body sagged against Brumm’s. “What is one more?”

And with that, Grimm descended into sleep.

Brumm wondered what to do with the sleeping troupe master. Ordinarily Grimm affixed himself to the banisters by his claws, curling up and hanging, bat-like, in his Ritual-induced sleep. But Brumm was unable to arrange his master in this way, now that he was unconscious.

At a loss, Brumm carried Grimm into the hidden chamber above the stage, where the troupe master sometimes spent his idle hours.

The golden orrery sat motionless in the center of the chamber. It was this many-ringed device which the troupe would use, under normal circumstances, to travel to the next fallen kingdom which called to them. When Brumm passed it, the seal of binding around the orrery shimmered faintly, confirming what Brumm already knew.

They could not move on until the Ritual had been completed.

Brumm laid Grimm carefully down on the floor and set about arranging the pillows, costumes, and spare tapestries into a sleeping area as best he could. When he was done, he placed the troupe master in its center and did all he could to ensure Grimm’s comfort.

Grimm’s brow furrowed in sleep. “The child...” he rasped, grasping with his hands like a child himself.

“Mrmm... The child is in good hands,” Brumm assured his master. He was not sure if Grimm heard him past the veil of nightmares, as the furrow in Grimm’s brow remained.

Brumm leaned back and considered the conversation he’d just had with Grimm. It was a relief to have his master’s partial blessing, however unwittingly, in what Brumm already planned to do. What remained was whether the Knight could be convinced to help him with it.

With a weary sigh, Brumm removed his accordion from its strap and reclined against a storage chest. The Knight would need time to process all they had seen.

In the meantime, the least Brumm could do was play for his sleeping master, in the hopes that he would have pleasant nightmares, and pleasant music to accompany them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your endless patience with me on this series! Grimm and the Knight's story is obviously far from over, and I've got big plans for them! If you'd like to see that, please consider subscribing to this series to get notifications when I publish the next work!
> 
> Also I'm so sorry for what I did to Cloth. She didn't deserve it! ): But when the idea hit me, it was so damn heart-wrenching that I just couldn't let it go!
> 
> Please feel free to air your grievances in the comments so I can prepare my public apology to the Hollow Knight fandom for my crimes.


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